


Low

by ZarryFTZouis



Series: Fix Me/MT Series [11]
Category: One Direction (Band), Union J (Band)
Genre: (technically underage sex but it's only mentioned), Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Sex, Enemies to Lovers, Epilogue, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4805891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZarryFTZouis/pseuds/ZarryFTZouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I feel so low."</p><p>- Low by Marianas Trench</p>
            </blockquote>





	Low

**Author's Note:**

> After months of not writing in Fix Me series, the one I write, of course, is a Zarry. Oh, One Love is killing me with the feels, bear with me, fellow Trenchers. Next one will be my favourite crackship, aka Juke.

“Faggot,” Harry sighs at the word/voice that’s all-too-familiar to his ears. “I told you not to come near here.”

“You like it that way though,” Harry shoots back, garnering a punch from his bully. “Only turns me on.”

 

Smoke-laced lips cover Harry’s own in a rough assault—something he gladly returns. Their kiss is rough and lustful from the get go, relentless and passionate.

 

Zayn Malik is Harry Styles’ bully and they’ve been fucking for a while as bully-and-nerd-with-benefits.

 

_Two months ago, start of the year_

 

“There’s a new kid?” Harry’s head turns around at Niall’s news. “Whatever, we’re in Upper Sixth Form.”

“So is he,” Niall munches on his bag of crisps. “I hear lots about him.”

“Some sort of Prince of Dubai?” Harry giggles as their teacher walks in.

 

“Hello, today, we have a new transfer student from Bradford,” Mrs. Rosewood sounds like she’d much take her lunch break even though it’s only her second class. “Zayn, say a few things about yourself.”

“Well, my name is Zayn, Zayn Malik,” Zayn—the new kid—starts, his west Yorkshire accent rolling off of his tongue. _Tongue I want to feel against my skin_. “I have three sisters, and I’m a huge fan of _Game of Thrones_ and _Frozen_.” He looks around the class as if to challenge his new classmates about the last part.

“You may take a seat next to Harry,” Rosewood goes on.

 

When Harry’s green eyes meet Zayn’s hazel/rich brown ones for the first time, his breath catches in his throat. He can’t explain the way he feels like he’s aboveground from the hazy feeling, or how he wants to capture Zayn’s attention.

 

“–got a pen?” Harry hears from Zayn, grounded to reality once more. “Hey, mate, got an extra pen?”

 

 _And this is how I fall for someone?_ Harry wonders, handing out a pen.

 

-

 

Harry recruits Zayn to his lunch table, which isn’t rejected. He giggles with Niall as Zayn shows up with a cigarette dangling between his lips.

 

“Hey,” Zayn’s lips somehow twitch up into a smirk. “I hear things about you from Louis.”

 

The smile fades from both Niall and Harry.

 

Simply put, Louis has been Harry’s arch-rival since primary school.

 

“I’m–”

 

A fist in Harry’s jumper is his response.

“I don’t befriend faggots and be glad I’m not making you a human pulp right now,” Zayn hisses, then bounds away towards a laughing Louis and Liam.

 

-

 

_Two weeks after the school started_

 

“I don’t get it,” Harry sniffles into Niall’s sleeve. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” Niall comforts his best friend. He’s bisexual himself. “Someone as hot as him was bound to be flawed.”

“Someone wants to meet up with him at the school’s back lot,” Harry sniffles one last time before rising. “I should go now.”

“Shoot me a text if something happens.”

 

At first, there’s no one in sight so Harry sighs, thinking it’s a prank from someone.

 

Then a sleek black Ferrari pulls up, startling Harry.

 

“Looking for someone?” _Zayn_ ’s the one in the car, a smirk donned on his perfect visage. “You look like a deer caught between headlights.”

“No thanks to–”

 

Two pair of nicotine-tainted lips crash to his, blocking out all coherent thoughts. The only natural response Harry can think of is kissing back with much enthusiasm.

 

“You’re a disgusting homosexual lad, but you look so innocent, I want to ruin that,” Zayn growls against Harry’s lips. He can hear the car doors unlocking. “Get in the car. I want to wreck you.”

“Um,” Harry obeys nonetheless, speechless.

“God, you look so edible and clueless, waiting to be devoured by the likes of me,” Zayn goes on, climbing into the backseat, over Harry’s frame. “Do you ever think about being dominated by someone who wishes to claim you?”

 _Yes_. “No...”

“Strike one, Styles,” Zayn purrs, ripping at Harry’s flannel. “Two more and you’ll wish you haven’t met me.”

“What are you doing to do then…?” Harry can’t think past the fog of lust and desire in his brains.

“Strike two for asking.”

 

Harry did _not_ mewl at the domineering tone from Zayn.

 

“Good boy,” Harry feels a shiver running down his spine at the praise. _Wait, I’m not Anastasia Steele!_ “I’ll feed you something really good, babes.”

“Wait,” Harry presses the heels of his palms to Zayn’s flat chest. “I didn’t exactly…”

“You’re my toy to play with, Harold,” Zayn clutches at the front of Harry’s shirt, rumpling it, his words full of gravels.

“Oh fine,” Harry gives in, spreading his legs wide open for Zayn’s pleasure. “Do what you want with my body.”

“I will.”

 

Harry’s never been touched before, not unless he counts his abusive step-father in such vile ways, so all of what Zayn is giving him is new. He’s gentle, he’ll give brownie points for that. Surprised gasp leave his throat when Zayn’s fingers brush against his now-bare perineum.

 

“You’re virgin, aren’t you?” Harry nods out of fear. “That makes you easier to corrupt.”

“I was corrupted the moment I laid my eyes on you,” Harry replies truthfully. “Bloody hell, what have you done to me?”

“Made you mine, Nerd Boy,” Zayn laughs, pressing their chests together. “Didn’t know you’d have any tattoos, to be honest.”

“A reminder,” Harry mumbles, his eyes ghosting over his star tattoo. _A reminder that even at the darkest moment, a star shines bright_.

 

He whimpers when his back connects to the back of expensive looking leather seat. His eyes full of fear, he looks up at Zayn’s cold, merciless ones.

 

“Mine, yeah?” Harry scowls at the sight of lube. “Say yes, Styles.”

“If I say no?”

 

Zayn arches a brow as if the question amused him.

 

“Right,” Harry can get the idea. “But you do realise this is statuary rape?”

“Your rock-hard dick says otherwise,” Zayn smirks, oh something Harry wishes to wipe off of the jock’s face. “I know you wish I would pulverise your ass with mine.”

“Bugger off,” Harry replies unconvincingly. Shit, he can feel his bollocks tightening.

“Give in to me, babe,” Zayn’s eyes grow darker than their usual cold amber-brown.

“One condition,” Harry grouses, getting out of his clothes.

 

Zayn looks surprised he has any requests.

 

“Treat me like I’m your proper lover, and not shag-and-run or something,” Harry parts his legs, feeling extra vulnerable.

“Is that what you want?” Zayn settles between his legs, his slim, yet somehow muscular, body fitting with his perfectly. “A gentle, caring lover?”

 

 _Somewhere along that line_ , Harry sighs internally. _You won’t be what I need, but you are what I want right now_.

 

Zayn proves himself to be gentler than he makes himself to be, a bottle of lube snatched from his rucksack, earning Harry’s surprise. He was expecting a dry shag since, well, Zayn’s a fucking dick. He knows what’s to come, so when one cold, slick finger is prodded to his hole, a shiver runs down his spine. A sound of protest bubbles in his throat but it goes away once Zayn crooks his finger, nudging at what he supposes as his–

 

“Prostate,” Zayn supplies, his voice lower, almost intimidating. “You never fingered yourself.”

“When people wank, they usually, um, you know what I mean,” Harry rushes to his finish.

“Thought so, my precious innocent little nerd,” Zayn’s words can only be described as sexual purrs. “Can take one more finger, yeah?”

 

Wordlessly, Harry looks down to see where Zayn’s knuckles meet with his arse-cheeks, pleasuring him so much he hates it. Worst of all, he _likes_ the stretch Zayn is giving him with just two fingers, when the girth of his dick is so much more.

 

“I knew there was something about you that drew me in, babe,” Zayn gathers Harry in his embrace into a sitting position, confusing the latter. “This way, you’ll feel fuller.”

“Wait, I’m not…” Harry trails off, then stops. Not what? Ready when he’s harder than he’s ever been? His body burning with desire for Zayn’s kisses and touches?

“Shh, babe,” one heel of Zayn’s palm presses into the small on Harry’s back, somehow managing to calm his nerves. “I won’t do anything that hurts you.”

 

Harry holds back his choking noise when Zayn’s head is ensconced by his rim, but once it’s fully sheathed—the entirety—it’s more painful than he’s imagined. He didn’t imagined his first time would be in the backseat of a Ferrari, or with someone who only wants his arse. Niall, his only friend, only started being sexually active with some unknown lover and well, he didn’t say it hurts like hell like this. He wiggles under Zayn in resistance but Zayn stops with a powerful—and forceful—kiss. It tastes like smoke-filled heaven, or something he’s going to get the closest to, and magically erases the pain. Zayn sighs against his lips, allowing Harry to wonder why the hell the school’s new bad boy would do that, and starts to thrust into him.

It would have been worse had Harry not been in arms of someone he was starting to trust. The gentle, yet powerful strokes into his prostate and large hands wrapped around his cock…

 

Yeah, he’s starting to fall in love.

 

(He wants to ignore how loud he screamed out Zayn’s name as he came, undone and completely spent from Zayn’s masterful touches.)

 

_Current time_

 

“You’re an idiot, Styles,” Harry’s new best friend, George, reminds him very kindly. “Zayn only wants carnal things from you, and you’re stupid enough to give those to them.”

“Says a virgin,” Niall snickers, earning a smack on the back of his head. “You aren’t one?”

“I do have a boyfriend unlike you losers,” George looks adorable as he glares at his friends. “So kindly sod off.”

“Is it that dude with lots of tattoos?” Niall looks proper intrigued. “Or that dude with hazel-y blue eyes?”

“Can you please not?” George groans, which Harry laughs at.

 

“So, how’s Zayn?”

 

Harry splutters out his mocha latte.

 

“That’s his way of saying, yes, he butt-fucked me last night,” Niall informs George. “And that look means I’ve got to go.”

 

Harry throws his notepad at his oldest friend.

 

-

 

“Somewhere sweet for the winter vacation?” Zayn looks amused as he lights up his fag—hopefully not a joint like the last time. Harry seems to be weaker respiratory system, making him cough at marijuana smoke. “Where, Paris? Madrid? Maybe Santorini Islands?”

“Who do I have to deliver the hemp to this time?” Harry jokes, refusing the smoke that’s offered to him.

“Oh please, I don’t need a nerd to run my business,” Zayn takes a hit and roughly crashes their lips together, transferring the smoke. It’s hotter since they’re in the backlot of their secondary school, and they can be caught any moment.

 

He moans into the kiss, one hand moving down to his belt and unclasping it. He wants sex from Zayn, that’s the problem, whether that’s going to bite him in the arse later in life or not. He needs Zayn’s touches, he needs Zayn’s kisses…

 

He needs Zayn.

 

-

 

Zayn doesn’t see the urgency in Harry until their eyes meet. Today is exactly a month before the winter vacations start and Harry is nothing but greedy with _everything_. Something’s off, he knows that, but what?

 

“Harry?” Zayn cups the other lad’s face, thumb brushing over the lower lip; he trembles from the touch. “What’s wrong?”

 

The clash of confusion, hatred, anger, and was that love? Did Zayn just see a glimpse of love from his victimised nerd?

“You can’t,” Zayn mutters, laying Harry down underneath him at the ground of a fucking parking lot. “You can’t, Styles.”

“Why can’t I?” Harry seems to know what he’s on about. “You’re horrible, but go ahead and rip my heart out if that’s what love’s all about.”

 

Zayn replies with a passionate kiss he only shared with one other person, someone who should remain as his dark secret.

 

Mr. Payne.

 

-

 

Harry can detect copious emotions from Zayn’s light brown eyes but hurt and betrayal aren’t what he wasn’t expecting. Why would the new-face of the bad boy at his school be so… distraught even?

 

“Zayn?” Harry thinks he should remove rest of his clothes to make Zayn feel better, but maybe not.

“Shut up,” the aggressive tone is back, the hand caressing his face now crushing the bones making up the facial structures.  “You don’t make me feel anything, you dirty little nerd.”

“Take me as I am,” Harry’s angry that Zayn chooses now to be bipolar. “There’s–”

 

Zayn’s fist connects with the other side of Harry’s face.

 

“Just what I expected from you, Malik,” he laughs humourlessly, too bothered to feel how swollen his cheek is. “Is that what you do to your loved ones?”

“I don’t love you, Styles,” Zayn growls, an impressive sound. “And I never will.”

“You already do,” Harry grabs the forming bulge in Zayn’s jeans. “You love my body too much to deny it.”

“Fuck you,” Zayn presses their lips together, tad bit desperately if Harry may daresay. He kisses back enthusiastically, forgetting they’re on a cement floor.

 

(Not that it mattered, given it’s half-five in the afternoon on a Saturday.)

 

“Just…” _what? Just_ what _? Fuck me like I’m a cheap whore? Nothing will ever change between us_. “Do it quick.”

 

Zayn smirks—oh, that smirk Harry wants to feel against his ass (he didn’t just say that)—in a devil-may-care way before removing all their clothes, conveniently leaving Harry exposed and afraid. Zayn can easily leave him alone for the holidays and act like nothing happened between them.

 

Wouldn’t he?

 

“I won’t,” Zayn curses as soon as he says that, like he wasn’t supposed to say that out loud. “Fucking hell, I can’t.”

Harry knows better than to ask _what_ so he just complies with Zayn sliding in dry, the extra friction making his dick harder than ever. His dick is trapped between their bodies, unavailable for self-jerking off, which seems to be Zayn’s intention. He fucks into him harder, their breaths mingling in raspy pants and mewls (in Harry’s part) and the sensation of his cum coating their stomachs untouched is the second best feeling in the world.

 

The first, of course, would be the moment (that never will come) he hears ‘I love you’ from Zayn.

 

-

 

It’s December 23rd and he’s at the Malik Residence.

 

First thing he notices is how everything looks over the price of £10,000.

 

That and the striking beauty of the people who inhibit the house.

 

“So Zayn gets his beauty from you,” Harry giggles as he says his hello to Patricia Malik. “I’m Harry.”

“Zayn’s said a great deal about you,” Mrs. Malik hugs him, something Zayn would never do. “Doniya isn’t coming home for the holidays.”

“Like always,” Zayn mumbles.

 

Harry literally feels the chills from the other male presence in the room, which can only be Mr. Malik. He can feel the testosterone level rising, literally.

 

“Dad,” Zayn greets his dad, a bit too tense, if anyone asks Harry.

 

_Do you bully me because your father doesn’t love you all proper?_

 

-

 

“I don’t fancy you one bit,” Zayn growls into his favourite green-eyed, curly-haired lad’s ear. “I never will.”

 

 _Because I fell in love with you, how pathetic is that?_ Zayn laughs inside his fucked up head _. Bully falls for his victim, how fucking cliché._

 

“You don’t have to hide,” Harry wiggles his hips. “God, I almost feel sorry for you when I’m the battered, broken, bloody one here.”

“What the actual hell?” Zayn is proper confused.

 

“Unrequited love, my dear Zayn,” Harry leans up and presses his dainty, pink lips to Zayn’s ear, for once taking control. “Is a scary thing.

 

 _How would you know about it_?

 

-

 

Harry should feel like shit that he let Zayn know—sort of—that he loves the bully but since when was his life in order? If Zayn was to reject him, screw that, he has his friends.

 

“You’re awfully quiet after visiting your never-going-to-be in-laws,” Niall teases, a bowl-full of caramel popcorn in front of him. “Shouldn’t you be gushing?”

“I have no chance with him when he doesn’t even know what real love is.”

 

_-_

_Christmas_

 

“No mails during holidays—oh hi Zayn,” Harry rubs at his eyes, still donning his pyjamas, looking at a preppy-dressed Zayn. “Wha—what brings you here?”

“For my promise, you stupid nerd,” Zayn rolls his eyes, offering a gloved hand. Wow, is that not a leather glove for once? “C’mon, gas is pricey these days.”

“You come from a wealthy business man’s family,” Harry rolls his eyes. “Wait, I’m not dressed!”

“And let you wear nerd clothes to where I’m taking you for lunch? Hell no,” Zayn is dragging Harry by force now. “Your clothes are all picked out. I, um, guessed the size.”

 

Using the backseat space to get changed isn’t as easy as it sounds. First, it’s cramped, and for a guy who’s nearly 180cm at the age of seventeen, it’s _really_ cramped. Second, it’s uncomfortable. You have to cram yourself to put one leg into the totally-not-expensive-looking trousers, then the other. Oh, and his knuckles hit the windows about five-hundred times trying to put his stupid dress shirt on.

Last, Zayn can easily catch him naked.

 

(Maybe that’s a good thing?)

 

“Let’s not be tardy,” Zayn yells over his shoulder, sounder irritated. “You don’t want to be late for this one.”

 

 _This one_ turns out to be in a form of an expensive Italian ristorante, complete with reservation of the entire place.

 

“This doesn’t have to be a _thing_ ,” Harry sighs as the server takes his coat.

“It won’t be, but I still got two tickets to Santorini,” Zayn studies his nails. “If you don’t want to go, I’ll just take my favourite sister.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Harry grouses.

 

After ten minutes of studying the menu, he decides to go with yam fries as starter and some fancy sounding pasta.

 

-

 

_The airport_

 

“I’ve been to this airport once and that was to take a picture with a celebrity,” Harry huffs as Zayn guides him through the Heathrow Airport. It’s a large place built like a fucking maze in Harry’s opinion.

“Well, I’m rich,” Zayn shows both their tickets to the stewardess.

“… and of course it’s first-class,” Harry sighs at the sight of large chamber-like structure of where they will be for next three or four hours. “Do you lavish on everything?”

 

Harry could’ve sworn Zayn’s cheeks flushed.

 

-

 

Their destination is none other than the Santorini Islands, the infamous holiday vacation spot for, oh, everyone. People try to get them to their own hotels and Zayn refuses politely.

(Politely as in ‘fuck off, me and my boyfriend here already have everything reserved for.)

(Wait, he said boyfriend.

Holy shit.)

 

-

 

“You can’t just… _Zayn_ ,” Harry babbles out, feeling like an utter idiot. “You can’t do that!”

“They were trying to recruit us to their filthy, barely-one star hotel, of course I had to call you my ‘boyfriend’,” Zayn motions at Harry to light up his cigarette. “C’mon, let’s go to Hyatt or somewhere my taste.”

“I thought we had a place to go to.”

“Since when do I tell a straight truth to anyone?” Zayn takes a drag of his cigarette. “I made sure international data is a thing for you so search.

 

-

 

Third day of Santorini is the best for Harry.

 

Mainly because Zayn isn’t moody and secretive, but also because they go on a date.

 

A real date where they act like themselves, not like they did in that ristorante.

 

“A gelato place, then a dessert café? Sounds like a go to me!” Harry giggles, resting his head on Zayn’s shoulder. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

“We go back home and I’ll end up hurting you anyways.”

 

That hurts Harry a lot as Zayn pays for their ice cream. Not in just emotional way, but also psychological way. What really is Zayn’s intention with Harry? At school, he’s treated like dirt but once the final bell rings, they share intimate moments…

 

 _Could it be he has actual feelings for me?_ Harry licks at the top of the scoop, staring at Zayn’s back. _Oh yeah, bring the sexy back… I mean it’s possible…_

 

-

 

The last day is when they have sex.

 

“I don’t want this, trust me,” Zayn grits out, a cigarette dangling between his lips. _Don’t want what? A life as a bully?_ “But you intrigue me so much, Styles.”

 _Oh_.

“Am I nothing but a fucktoy to you?” Harry should be indigenous, far more than letting Zayn crawl over him to get lube.

“That word is crude for someone like you,” is all Harry’s lover—if the term is applicable—replies with, slicked-up fingers probing at his entrance. The conversation is over, Harry knows that, but what about their future?

 

-

 

It’s their last day—night, whatever—at the Santorini islands and Zayn sure as hell feels guilty. He brought Harry here to open up about his past relationship with Mr. Payne from _primary school_ , a rather fit teacher even to a twelve-year-old him. Quite obviously, things went downhill, which is why he has trust issues.

 

That brings to why he hasn’t told Harry about Payne. That’s like opening up a fucking damn of feelings and memories to the boy who’s starting to take up a part in his heart.

 

“… That word is crude for someone like you,” Zayn replies when Harry calls himself a fucktoy, something he has a knowledge of _being_. “You shouldn’t degrade yourself like that.”

 

He goes on with prepping Harry with his fingers, wondering if he can use some toys tonight. They have before, furthest being a stretch ring. (Long story.) Harry’s forest-green eyes seem to be clouded by uncertainty and lust. He wants to say _love_ but that’s not possible for someone like him.

 

A mistake.

 

“Zayn?” Harry’s beautiful, angelic voice takes him out of his dark reverie. “Something you’d like to discuss?”

“Ride me,” Zayn shifts their weight around so that Harry’s pert little arse is poised on his cock. “I never gave you control, so this is–”

 

Harry kisses him hard, with more passion he’s ever experienced. There’s fire in the way they kiss, almost frightening with the heat. Harry grinds down, Zayn’s leaking tip rubbing off against Harry’s clenched hole. It’s far more pleasing that Zayn expected and when he’s finally inside, he moans loudly. Harry rocks his hips in a slow tempo, as if he knows that will tease Zayn madly. Zayn decides to humour Harry and let him do his work—after all, he promised dominance for the night. Harry lets out small moans and mewls, notifying Zayn that he’s hitting the green-eyed boy’s prostate perfectly. That and the scrunched-up face, perhaps, is the giveaway hint. Zayn thrusts up in the same angle, aborting cute grunts from his favourite lover (so far). Harry reaches out to take Zayn’s hand and takes it to his lips. At first, Zayn think it’s to kiss his hand, but Harry proves him wrong by nibbling on the pad of his thumb.

“Enough,” Zayn growls, flipping them over and taking control. He manages to stay inside Harry, the best feeling in the world, and starts to plough into his lover. Harry starts to proper scream out Zayn’s name (like a pornstar) and the sound resonates in their suite all throughout the night.

 

 _I love you, Harry Styles_ , Zayn whispers silently, kissing the side of Harry’s face as the other lad sleeps silently, unaware of the clouds of smoke filling the room.

 

-

 

Harry wakes up to the scent of rose petals and vanilla. Which, admittedly, is odd, since Zayn never did this sort of shite with him.

 

 _‘Follow me_ ’ a note reads, sat on the bedside table. Rubbing at his eyes, Harry can’t think of something better and looks for another note, which is couple yards away, in front of the door to the bathroom. He blushes, hasn’t got a clue why, and reads the second note. ‘ _Reckon you need to freshen up… Strawberry and blueberry mix soap okay with you?’_ Confused, Harry picks the soap up and inhales the sweet fragrance. Only halfway through his morning routine does he realise the rose scent is from the incense that must be hidden.

 

 _‘Hope you’re liking the morning so far_ ’ a fancily folded note on top of the towel reads. ‘ _Go outside and wear the clothes I picked out for you_.’ Harry scoffs at how Zayn is watching him with some sort of surveillance camera. He undresses quickly and gets into skin-tight jeans (that are suffocating his dick) and somewhat looser-fitting white t-shirt over it. ‘ _Good boy, Hazzie. X’_ Harry scowls at the nickname. _‘Come down to the dining area, I have something to tell you_.’

 

When Harry gets down to the dining area, there’s no one there, only a single red rose laying on the table top to indicate someone _was_ there.

 

-

 

“This is kidnapping!” Zayn manages to spit out before someone with scruff and mangy light brown hair ties a cloth around his mouth.

“So mouthy,” the abductor, or Mr. Payne to Zayn, laughs humourlessly. “Tomlinson, be a dear and loosen the knot. I don’t want it to hurt too much.”

“You bluh duh uh duh tuh me!” Zayn mentally pats his own back for sounding close to what he meant to convey.

“Yes, this is technically abducting, Zaynie, but you were about to tell Harry about me!” Payne orders something to the driver. “Now, it’s a bitch that you hid all the way out here in the Santorini islands, but thank God I have a private jet!”

 

Now, Zayn _thought_ that Mr. Payne was just a nice teacher who gave him _extra credits_ but about two months into their relationship, he found out something sinister. He was twelve, but he knew something was off about the file called ‘Operation Z’ on his computer. Payne caught him and before anything could happen, Zayn begged his parent to move out of Bradford.

Three or four months into his upper sixth form year, Mr. Payne found him again, which forced Zayn into transferring school mid-semester. He didn’t mean to find Harry and befriend him, nor did he mean to fall in love.

 

“If you want to live, Malik,” Tomlinson, a lad who has to be three or four inches shorter than him, informs with a gun pointed at his temple. “I suggest you do as what Boss tells you to.”

“I’m not a lapdog, and I’m surprised you are,” Zayn grits once the gag is removed. “What did he promise you, joyride on his dick?”

The gunshot less than a centimetre away from his ear should scare him, but it doesn’t. He just laughs to hide his tears.

 

_I’m sorry, Harry._

 

-

 

He really doesn’t know what happened. Harry just scrounged for his passport and the ticket back home. He also had to sneak into Zayn’s room and did a little search for what he was looking for.

 

_Dear Harry—actually, fuck that shit._

_If you found this, congratulations, the bane of your existence is gone… Or you actually care about me enough to found this note. There are two reasons you found this note: one – I was taking a shower and you randomly found this or, 2 – I was taken by someone. Now, I would tell you who that someone is, but do you know anything about me? You probably didn’t know that I was molested by a teacher in primary school and he intended to make my life a living hell by following me._

_Surprise! He also happens to be anti-government spy personnel. Maybe he thought he could recruit me when I grew older, who knows? I hired people to locate his hideout so I trust you enough to use the credit card attached to this note to get a fair there._

_In case I haven’t told you already,_ mein tumse karta pyaar hoon, _Hazza._

 

-

 

Harry usually thought himself with someone who possesses some degree of intellectual abilities, which is why he went to the secret headquarters/hideout place by himself. If he brought Niall, he’d be too clumsy, and George would have screamed at the first sight of blood, so.

 

“Oh shit,” Harry never held any sort of weapon before so having a frigging bat by his side isn’t helpful in any way possible. “Oh shit, wasn’t supposed to say that.”

 

The guy below the window looks at the other end of the hallway and goes away.

 

Harry somehow manages to sneak his way to the centre of the underground house, his hair tied back into a small ponytail. (Maybe his hair being in a ponytail isn’t relevant but hey.) He can see not-so-menacing looking mid-twenty aged man guarding seemingly unconscious Zayn. Harry rummages through his rucksack and throws the mini knock-out gas bomb he made. His hard work (read: being a nerd) in Chemistry pays off as the bloke falls backwards. Zayn wakes up—thank God, Harry doesn’t want to carry him—so Harry hops down from his hiding place.

 

“–Shouldn’t have come here,” Zayn chokes out, heavily leaning on Harry. “You imbecile, why do you think you got in so easily?”

“Shit,” Harry mutters as heavy footsteps approach him. “I’m guessing that’s Payne.”

“Right you are.”

 

Harry thought someone as evil as Mr. Payne would _look_ evil but no, the guy had to look like a fucking angel. Soft brown eyes and light brown hair that’s cut short… Harry is _not_ in love, he already loves Zayn.

Wait, he loves Zayn? Since when?

 _Since he first kissed you_.

 

“Payne,” Zayn growls at his formal teacher. “I was the target, not him, so let him go.”

“Were you actually? He invented a knock-out gas in matter of hours before coming here,” Payne laughs, a melodically evil sound. “He’s worth much more than some heir to a company.”

“I can easily mix gasses to kill you,” Harry growls out, fingers laced with Zayn’s. “It’s not that hard, coming up with the formula that’s harmful to humans.”

“Determined, isn’t he?” Payne sounds more than amused, if not… EW, that man can’t be aroused by this situation! “By the way, Tomlinson should be waking up soon, my group of scientists are tad bit faster.”

“I tried,” Harry sneaks his Swiss army knife out of his back pocket. He really is out of options. “But I gotta admit… you’re hot, Mr. Payne.”

 

Zayn shoots him a _what are you doing?_ look.

 

“Oh?” Payne looks taken back by… surprise? Entertainment? _What does that smirk mean_? “Not the first time I’ve heard it, but what makes you say that?”

“Your jawline,” Harry hates how he has to free-verse compliments here. He has eyes, right? “Your cold, seductive eyes… Lips.”

“And your time is up,” Payne laughs again before kicking Harry backwards. His behind connects with the wall in the most excruciating way possible. _Maybe he knew about the knife plan_. “God, you’re so pathetic, thinking you could just save Zayn? With you, I can maybe get a couple thousand from ransom but this guy–” Payne points the pistol against his temple. “Couple hundred. Now–”

 

Harry blacks out after hearing the glasses shattering.

 

-

 

Zayn has never been this frightened of his life. Sure, his position as one of the richest businessman/company chairman made him a target by default, but he was never kidnapped before either!

And now his supposed saviour is knocked out cold on the floor, brilliant.

 

“Sceptical much?” Sort of familiar voice muses. “Relax, Harry will find out soon.”

“Shelley?”

“Oh, you do know me,” Shelley—or George—blushes a bit. “I’m sort of a tech nerd who tracked him down. Had to shut down his entire security system down.” He jerks his thumb in direction of Payne.

“And you managed to knock nearly everyone out with a sonic blast,” Zayn wonders if all of Harry’s nerd herd are, well, highly intelligent. “Harry created a KO bomb.”

“He did that months ago in case of summer burglar becomes a thing,” George rolls his eyes. “And I’d like to keep my virtue in tact so let’s go.”

 

George is a shitty driver so the drive from the special hideout to Harry’s is a rocky one. Currently sat in the backseat with Harry on his lap, Zayn strokes Harry’s long curls. He loves the slightly younger lad, yes, but will that keep or guide him towards the truth Harry needs to know?

“–Ove you…” Harry mumbles in his unconscious state.

_Can I still be hopeful?_

 

-

 

Harry wakes up in his own bed, which has to be a dream. Wasn’t he about to be locked up as some sort of ransom by a psycho killer?

Then he remembers that he was knocked out by some crazy loud sound.

 

“The failed hero awakes!” An annoyingly familiar voice booms. “And looks like he wants to murder me, I’m out.”

“Stay,” more authoritative commands. Harry is willing to bet all his college fund money it’s Zayn even in his half-asleep state.

“You meanie,” George huffs out. “But if you two start having kinky bum sex, I’m telling Anne.”

 

Harry rolls his eyes.

 

“Five minutes, go!”

 

“… Hi…” Harry drags his glance downwards, staring at his fluffy pink socks clad feet. _Ugh_. “What brings you here?”

“Technically–”

“It _is_ your fault!”

“100% my fault that you were nearly kidnapped by my ex-teacher… Who was also secretly some sort of agent… And my ex-lover. Before you get all mouthy, Styles,” Zayn holds out a finger to Harry’s lips, a romantic gesture under different circumstances, “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I was only twelve, I barely understood sex. Put your damn self in my shoes. An attractive man approaches you and kisses you out of the fucking blue, what would you have done? Resist it? You can’t, I tried. I won’t go into gory details of what _exactly_ happened to me but you can guess… Three months into the affair, my mother noticed the hickey on my neck and I was just a little lad. She was furious I didn’t keep it, keep it for someone special.” Harry thinks it’s his wild imagination that Zayn’s amber eyes linger on his face as the other says the last part. “I fell into depression and my stupid fourteen-year-old mind thought that cigarettes might lessen the psychological damage Payne has done to me. Wrong, I know, but at least I was getting some sort of relief… He found me again in the beginning of Year 13, which is why I moved to your school. I shouldn’t have bullied you, no, but you looked so pure… untouched by others and yet to be crushed by the darkness of the world–”

 

Harry doesn’t know how to respond to a dark confession, apparently, because he just attaches his lips to Zayn’s, who smirks and kisses him hard. He vaguely hears George’s warning about some stupid time rule but he’s too caught up in the moment. He kisses and kisses Zayn until his smoke-enticed lips are engraved to his senses, their chests pressed flush together.

 

“Do love you,” Zayn mutters against his lips. “I do love you, Styles. Have for a while.”

 

Harry _does_ know the proper response this time, in form of whacking Zayn in the arm.

 

“What was that for?” Hurt and confusion swims in Zayn’s beautiful eyes.

“For making me wait _months_ to hear that,” Harry giggles before kissing Zayn again.

 

-

 

_Epilogue_

 

“I know that our school adopted the American _homecoming_ shite but that does not mean I’m wearing a suit!” Harry growls at his boyfriend of six months. “Oh bullshit, I’m not—the fuck is this, Malik?”

“Shit,” Zayn is quick to swear, he always was. “Fuck, you can’t just–”

“Oh, you’re shit at hiding things,” Harry waves the little royal blue box. “Explain.”

“It’s not an engagement ring,” Zayn clears his throat, snatching the box from Harry, and opens it. Inside is a platinum ring with a single diamond in the centre with two amethysts on either sides. “It’s a promise ring that sometime in the future–”

 

Harry giggles and stops Zayn mid-sentence with a loud, wet kiss.

Happy ending exists, but only after hardships.


End file.
